


Summer seems so cold without you, winter is even colder

by Les_MiserableAtBest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5405489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Les_MiserableAtBest/pseuds/Les_MiserableAtBest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon awakens to find the world cold and empty, as if a fire that had burned forever had gone out.<br/>title is a lemony snickett quote btw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jon

_"I cannot live without my **life** , I cannot live without my **soul**!"_ -Wuthering Heights

When Jon awakens, the world is grey and empty. He awakes in sadness, as if something was missing from the world. The Red Woman stood at his bedside, her face solemn, her eyes secretive.

He remembers knives in the darkness.

He faintly remembers Eddard Stark crying.

He remembers his little sister running towards him, calling out his name with joy, a beacon of light in the darkness. She still had that little blade he had forged for her.

‘This must be Heaven,’ Jon thinks, ‘If she is here.’

Then bitter light. And coldness. And grey.

And that damnable Red Witch.

He knows then, as the memories return, and he understands why he feels a piece of him missing. He wants to  be wrong, he prays to all the gods-the old and the new, even R’hllor.

“My sister?” He croaks out, his voice unused. He didn’t say which one, but it was known. A heavy silence overcomes them.

“She returned to exact vengeance on your men for their…..treason. She killed so many…. The Bolton Bastard, the Queen Regent, Theon Greyjoy-so many names crossed off.” The Red Woman said quietly.

“Where is she?!” Jon demanded, his voice stronger now.

“Follow me.”

She took him to a bed, his old room, before he was Lord Commander. There, so still she almost looked asleep, lay his little sister. He would have thought her asleep, if not for Sansa’s red eyes, and her pale, waxy complexion. He fell to his knees, a sob escaping.

“She begged me for your life. Pleaded. R’hllor could not grant such a wish while she lived. She was a killer. Only death can pay for life.”

Heavy silence.

“I hope you were worth it,” Sansa’s soft voice caught him off guard with the hatred in her voice. “I hope you are so very special, _King in the North_.”

“I am no king.” Jon protests.

“Your half-brother named you his heir, before his….untimely death.” The Red Bitch said, in her all knowing voice. Sansa let out a muffled sob. Anger bubbled in Jon’s heart. He leapt up and put his hands around the Red Woman’s throat. He smiled as the last of her life left, and then for good measure, he broke her neck.

They burned her body.

But not Arya’s, she was a princess of Winterfell and deserved the proper rites. For a long time he held onto her corpse, sobbing. Winterfell was rebuilt, though it would remain forever scarred. He buried her in the crypts with Robb and their father. He placed Needle in the hands of her statue, as they did with the kings of old. He gave the throne in the North to little Rickon, he still had some innocence about him.

Jon hated them. He hated Sansa, Bran, Tyrion, he hated everyone that got to live while she didn’t. He hated himself the most, hated he had to return to the world when she was no longer in it.

He dreams of her. Dreams where the war never happened and he’d ruffle her hair and call her little sister. Dreams where they were not Starks, or Snows, they were just Jon and Arya and loved each other all the same.

Other dreams were not so pleasant. Sometimes she would stand before him, her hands bloody. Sometimes she lay there bleeding, crying out for him, but he was always too far away.

Bran knows. Bran wasn’t the same boy he once was. He was a lord, a husband, a father. He knew so much. His son with the Reed girl had those green eyes that also knew so much, too much.

Sansa writes him, but she is distant, and writes as though it is a duty.

She tells him how it came to be and he weeps.

Sansa and the Imp have three sons, Eddard, Robb, and Jon. Then twin girls-Cat and Arya. Jon laughs when he reads this. Arya and Jon are finally together once more, and that’s all that matters.

Jon dreams the dead come to him. A man with his face, a girl with red hair and crooked teeth, and finally a young girl with his eyes. She took his hand and led him away.

Jon was buried in the crypts, next to his little sister.


	2. Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's POV....sorry she's a bit OOC at the end.

_“If you must die, my love, die knowing your life was my life’s best part.”_

No one heard of a bastard’s death. The girl found tears on her cheeks. She was no one, she was not Arya Stark anymore. Arya Stark would weep for her brother. No one’s only brothers wore black and white, but still there were tears.

She learned of Ramsay Bolton wedding Arya Stark.

‘Let that girl be Arya Stark.’ Thought the girl.

But that night the girl dreamt of things Arya Stark knew. She dreamt of a knight who was dead, but not anymore. Of a girl with red hair, and a boy with her eyes.

‘Stick ‘em with the pointy end.’ She heard.

Cat of the Canals asked who killed the Lord Commander.

“His men, betrayed him in the knight.” Said a fisherman.

“A red priestess, on behalf of Stannis.” Said another.

The Dragon Queen came to Braavos. No one watched her caravan. No one saw a man from Arya’s past. A small man. The Imp, she recalled. He was wed to Arya’s sister. The sailors said they killed the king in a plot to gain power. No one saw the Imp with a tall girl, with blue eyes and red hair, a girl who had always had perfect stitches. Arya, deep inside, leapt forward.

‘Does she mourn Jon?’ Arya’s voice asked. No one tried to rid Arya’s thoughts, tried to banish them. Arya was strong, though. When she had no family-no hope, she could forget. A sister changed things. Hope bubbled, and Arya came through.

“Sansa!” She cried out, running to the lady, tears running down her face. Guards grabbed Arya tight as the woman looked on, still and cold, like porcelain.

“Stop.” She commanded. She reached out and cupped Arya’s face. “I know this face, I know those eyes. I know you, sister.” Her voice was soft, and cracked as she said ‘sister’. They embraced, together again at last.

They began to plot revenge on all those who had done ill to the House Stark. Joffrey and Tywin were both dead, but Cersei, the Boltons, the Night’s Watch, Theon Greyjoy and the Freys still had to pay.

“The north remembers.” Sansa would say, with a sly smile.

They returned to Westeros in weeks. Winter had come at last.

Cersei Lannister fell from a tower, bruises around her neck.

Roose Bolton was ‘eaten by wolves’. His son killed by a jealous lover. Theon drowned.

Sansa left to Arya all those who had betrayed and killed Jon. Jon had been buried, the cold had preserved his body mostly. Arya brought him to his office and wept. As she wept three men and two women, looking ragged, came to them. One boy rested on a very tall mans back. They looked like wildings, coming in from the snow, but the sisters knew those blue eyes. The Stark siblings were together at last. Except for Jon and Robb.

Arya held Needle to Melisandre's neck.

“Bring him back. I know you can.” The Red Priestess stared at her with those haunting red eyes.

“And why should I do anything for you?”

“Not for me-for the land. Jon is a king by all rights, Bran saw Robb left the North to him. There is power in king’s blood-remember?” Arya argued stubbornly.

“You hold the blood of kings as well Princess. The blood of the First Men runs in your veins as well.” She countered. “I cannot bring a soul back from R’hllor without an exchange. Death pays for life. You are his Nyssa Nyssa, and this,” She runs her fingers along Needle, “is your Lightbringer.” Arya stepped back, dropping Needle to her side.

Sansa begged, wept, she pleaded and commanded. Bran said nothing, he knew what Arya would do.

“My sister, oh I do love you all, and I had hoped to see Winterfell rebuilt. The wolves have come again, and I must finally wash clean the blood from my hands.” She left to Jon’s side. She prayed to the old gods to protect him, then she kissed his cold, dead lips.

She went to the godswood, Bran knew she’d be there, he came as Summer to hold onto her in her final moments, as she plunged Needle between her breasts.   


	3. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter has come, in all it's harshness, but after the snows come the flowers of spring.

_"If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?"_  
Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

Sansa was tired. Tired and _so_ angry. Her brothers were gone, all of them.

‘Even little Rickon.’ She thought. ‘Just a baby and burned because his name was Stark.’ It was at these times she envied Jon of his bastard name.

And Robb….he was barely older than her. Robb never wanted to be king, never wanted the crown, not like Sansa had. She’d cursed her family with her vanity and ambition. And what they had done to her mother, just a grieving widow refusing to bow to her husband’s killer. Anger bubbled in Sansa’s heart. She had been porcelain when she arrived in King’s Landing, desperate to be a lion. She was no lion, she was a _wolf_ and she had been wronged. She was no Southron lady, she was the rightful Queen in the North. She knew what she had to do then.

Oberyn Martell appeared in her room, late at night. Sansa would have been surprised, perhaps angry or offended once upon a time, but now she knew why he was here.

“My husband is not here, my lord.” She said sweet as honey.

“Ah yes, how is your marriage? I hear rumors you are infertile…” He runs a hand over her cheek. “What a shame for a princess of the North.” He grinned and jumped back, onto her bed.

“What is it you desire?”

“Only to assist you in your endeavour. I, too, know the hatred of the Lannisters. I know how it feels to lose a sibling.” She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m quite sure I don’t have any idea what you’re speaking about.”

“See, poison is considered weak, but really it can make a man suffer for days, weeks even. If anyone deserves to die a wicked death, it is the Lannisters I am sure.” She grinned, the wolf inside her howling.

So as Cersei planned a wedding, Sansa and Oberyn planned a slaughter.

Sansa was as meek as ever to Joffrey.  To Tommen, however, she was a sculptor. Molding a good king, a good man.

The only one who suspected anything was Tyrion. He confronted her one night, in their bedchamber, he stank of wine, but his words were resounding and sober as on their wedding night.

“Is your plan to kill the king and leave me as a scapegoat? With the Martells’ doing clean-up? I understand you are not all too fond of me, but really, Cersei will put me to death.” He was not shaken, not angry, perhaps just hurt. “You _can_ trust me. I may look a monster, but-”

“Come with me.” She said, surprising them both. “You are kind, you are smart. We can rebuild Westeros, save it, together.” He looked at her, his mismatched eyes gazing into her Tully blue ones, as though this kindness were unusual. In an act of spontaneity she bent bent down and kissed her husband.

********

To seal  their bond, Sansa stabbed Tywin with the Valyrian blade that was once her father’s. Then she fled with her husband, across the Narrow Sea to find the Dragon Queen. Targaryen and Stark had both done each other wrong, but the two queens, on of ice and one of fire, put them aside for revenge. It was in Braavos she found hope once more. Hope came in a girl with grey eyes approaching her. Sansa remembered, of course, this was her pack.

********

She wants to hate Jon. She wanted to blame him for losing her- _their_ -sister. It was his fault, but she couldn’t hate him, not because he was her brother, or because Arya loved him, but because the real Jon was dead. This Jon was a ghost. It was a bit of waste, Arya dying for him, and he’s too miserable without her to truly live.

Tyrion and Sansa had a corrupt marriage, their trust built from mutually assured destruction, their love built on years of pain. However, the war had ended, and they had changed, as war always changes people. They built a life together. She loved her boys, she truly did, but at times she favored the girls, they had to be strong, like Arya, like her mother.

Bran told her of Jon’s death in his sleep.

“Burn him then.” She said with indifference. But his eyes haunted her, they were Father’s eyes. Arya’s as well. They built him a place in the crypts next to Arya.

Sansa looked at her own Jon and Arya-hoping for them to lead a better life. They could she knew, for Spring was beginning to bloom. She reminded her children often though, that winter is coming.

  
  



End file.
